The Bar
by ClassicalTorture
Summary: When Mycroft asks for their help, Sherlock and John are suddenly on a case of deception, disguise, and deceit. What do a bar, mafia, and elegance have in common? Well Sherlock apparently. Slash, Sherlock in heels, John The Mob. Written together with SeaStoneChair.
1. Mycroft asks for help

The Bar

Hello this is a story done in collaboration with the most wonderful SeaStoneThrone of Tumble. Neither her nor I own or possess any rights to Sherlock; it all goes to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC and Steve Moffat.

John stood at the stove, watching the kettle heat up. They were to have a quiet evening together, him and Sherlock. He knew Sherlock absolutely hated the idea, but John had made him behave using… certain unmentionable tactics to convince him. As of now, this was all John wanted with his love. Since the first night they were together, they were basically inseparable. John was seeing sides of Sherlock that _nobody_ had ever seen and nobody, but him, will ever see. And that's how John wanted it.

The kettle screamed at him, signaling it was done, and he took it off the stove. Making tea. That's what he did for both of them all the time. John didn't cook and neither did Sherlock. So John made tea, ordered take out, and fed Sherlock every day. It was his job and John secretly loved it. Sherlock wouldn't eat a thing unless it came from John. Outsiders would say that their relationship was too dependent on each other, but that's how they wanted it.

John brought the two cups of tea and pot into their living room. The fireplace was going and the skull on the mantle was turned around. It was something John did when he thought they _might_ have a shag in the living room. He didn't want the skull to see… Sherlock disproved of it at first, but then he got used to it and did it himself sometimes. When John came home and saw the skull turned around he knew what was in store for him.

John handed Sherlock a tea cup and kissed his lips hard. He just wanted to climb in Sherlock's lap and have a go at it right then, but he held himself back and sat in his own chair. Tonight was supposed to be calming. And John could only hope it would stay that way.

Sherlock was sitting on the comfortable sofa in their house, keeping one eye on his newest scientific journal, explaining the new breakthrough in the area of forensics, and another on John bustling about the kitchen. After they have started to truly settle together as partners as well as lovers, Sherlock has spend quite some time researching human relationships, the stages of development, common mistakes and all of the things that might improve or compromise his time with his lover. He found out that they were practically codependent, but saw no difficulties with said discovery. John made Sherlock pause, and relax, and appreciate things like the stars, and a cup of tea, and a particularly delectable jam, often in combination with licking said jam off of John himself, and Sherlock in turn satisfied his blogger's every physical craving, including the rush of adrenalin that the man was clearly missing from his time as a soldier, fighting in war that was not his own. They functioned quite well together if Sherlock said so himself and he doubted that there would ever be another person who he would allow within his personal space in the same capacity as John. He smiled slightly when John finished perfecting the tea and handed him his cup. He was, as a rarity, in peace and content.

John had this nagging feeling in the back of his mind all night. It felt like he had forgotten something and he was trying his hardest to remember, but nothing came to his mind. He kept trying to push it away all evening and now all night.

"What are you reading?" He asked, sincerely curious. John had caught Sherlock reading a lot of things on how relationships work and trying to understand. He thought it was quite funny, but he knew Sherlock didn't think the same way so he kept his mouth shut when he caught Sherlock researching. He was wondering if this was another one of Sherlock's research papers.

Sherlock lifted his eyes at John. "It is a new study on the benefit of making the blood splatters be preserved, rather than wiped off by the cleanup crew, as a way of preserving more evidence, considering that the photographs of crime scene often time do not involve such things as the depth and fluidity of the liquids. It is really quite good." He finished. It actually was exciting, and made Lestrade's job certainly easier, if of course implemented.

John took a sip from his tea, listening intently, when he heard his phone go off in the other room. That nagging feeling came back worse than before. He ignored his phone the first time it went off. It was only a few more minutes before it went off again. John sighed. He didn't want to get it. It was probably something that would completely change the evening from calm to hectic.

When Sherlock's eyes actually took in John's face, he was torn from his musings and focused his attention on the other man.

"You seem...conflicted? Or nervous...Why are you nervous?" There certainly wasn't a visible reason for his doctor to be experiencing any anxiety; he thought the evening was going rather well.

"I have this feeling," John started and then his phone started up again. So many texts from whomever it was.

"For fucks sake," he muttered, not finish his previous sentence and getting up to go get his phone. When he walked back he was scrolling through all of the texts with a blank face. Of course. He knew it. That's what that annoying nagging feeling was. Mycroft needed them to do something for him and he was texting John.

John sent back an angry text to text Sherlock instead of him, but he knew Mycroft wouldn't do it. In all honesty Mycroft had probably been texting Sherlock all day but Sherlock hadn't had his phone with him...

"It's your brother." He said dully. "And he wants us to do something for him, but I'm not sure yet. I told him to text you because I really don't want to deal with any of his power plays this evening." John flopped back in his chair and nearly chugged his hot tea. Ridiculous really.

"Oh what does he want now!" Huffed Sherlock as he reached his long arm into the cushions of the couch, and fished out his mobile. With a press of a button, and a few seconds of waiting for the blasted thing to turn on, he was assaulted with approximately 27 messages of various length, and even 2 voice mails, all coming from one annoying source: his fat brother.

Sherlock scrolled through them with irritation shining on his face, but after a minute it was replaced by...curiosity? His face elongated slightly, fingers slowed down, and eyes paid a bit more attention to the screen in front of the device. Apparently he would not have a chance to be too bored for the rest of the week. As Sherlock finished reading his brother's texts, his fingers set to work, furiously typing up a response.

"It appears, my dear, that we will not be too bored very soon..." Drawled Sherlock without raising his eyes.

John let out a long puff of air, reading himself for whatever was in store for them tonight. He nodded at himself and got up to turn the skull back around to face the room. Then he began to pace the room.

"Tell me about it," John almost threw his own phone across the room. He just _had_ to answer it. Should have put it on silent or turned it off like Sherlock had. He was overreacting, he knew, but all he wanted was a quiet evening. Just one. That was all. Maybe tomorrow evening... John looked intently at Sherlock and waited for any news on what they were to do.

Usually when Mycroft needed them it was something... unusual and that was an understatement. Mycroft seemed to only want them to do all his weird cases that the government couldn't do because, well, because they weren't the most respectable things.

"You might recall John, the case we were on last week, the one where the papers from Prime Minister's office were stolen, and then returned on his doorstep. According to Mycroft two more thefts have occurred within this week, with the same practice of important documentation of, as Mycroft would put it, _sensitive_ information on a few rather controversial adjustments to the current international trafficking law.

"And if not the laws themselves weren't it then curiously enough the people involved in the process have received notes, persuading them to make sure that those laws would be passed. The culprits have been sighted, but they were simply small fry. The real minds behind this are yet to be caught, even if they are known by now.

"What Mycroft requests, is that I find out their motivation for going to such lengths and the possible bosses of those people." Finished Sherlock, as he finally looked at John. It seemed that the calm of the evening has evaporated from the man like morning mist did from the grass fields by noon, and he was once more deep within his mind, putting together pieces, and tying them together.

The information sunk in and John seemed to approved. It didn't sound like they would be doing anything particularly hard. "Ok. That's all good and... normal." John knew the normal part wouldn't last long.

"Where do we go? And... what do we _do_ to get this information?" Those were the important questions. John went back to his seat, obviously fidgeting. He couldn't keep still and he couldn't tell anymore if it was from the anticipation of this case or because he was still angry. But he was pretty sure the anger was gone and he was just ready to get this over with. That way they could just crawl into bed together that much faster. It probably would have been better for the two of them if they had received these calls earlier that day instead of just ignored them, but it was here now.

"Mycroft had informed me that those particular men are regulars at a certain high-end place called Callooh Callay Cocktail Bar. It is quite exclusive, and only the _crème-de-la-crème_..." Here Sherlock did the air quotes."... of the society, are allowed in. It is a highly private club, and outsiders are under careful consideration. He has also informed me that he had insured me a spot as a bartender at said establishment starting tomorrow night, and for the rest of the week at least.

"He says that the position will first has to be scouted for a day or two, as the men come in on Wednesdays and it is only Sunday night." Sherlock was excited, finally something that would actually employ the acting classes he was pushed into by Mommy but then continued after realizing their worth for a profession as his own.

Oh... not weird at all. John relaxed. Plus, it didn't even sound like he needed to be involved. He wasn't well known, had a lot of money, or anything really so he wouldn't be allowed into the bar... Perfect!

"Well, it certainly sounds like it would be fun." John gave Sherlock a smile and suddenly wished he hadn't chugged his tea from earlier. "And you get to act! We both know how much you like doing that," John had seen Sherlock act on numerous occasions and then complain later that he couldn't act longer. And of course, in the bedroom when they acted out different sexual scenarios... John's face flushed at he thought and he cleared his throat. Jeez, his mind was horrible tonight. It also seemed like they could have the rest of this night without having to act on this case right away.

"I'm sure you'll pick up on mixology pretty quickly, too, as you do with most things. It seems like I won't be involved in this one!" John's voice was almost peppy as he said it. He clasped his hands together in triumph.

Sherlock stared at John with disbelief. "I am surprised you are alright with this John..." Said the tall men hesitantly. He sat down on the sofa again and looked at John. He looked relaxed and Sherlock was a bit baffled. "I was not aware you were alright with me showing interest in others, much less showing my body to others as well...I suppose never really considered that to be one of your likes" Finished he with a bit of interest.

John's smile faded slowly. What. John quickly went over what Sherlock had previously said in his mind trying to find where Sherlock had mentioned showing himself off to other men. After recalling what he could, he couldn't find anything Sherlock had mentioned about any of that. John's body stiffened considerably.

"What do you mean you have to... do all of that?" He waved a hand in the air as if to signal everything Sherlock had said. "Is this a gay bar? How are you supposed to show off your.. body? And show interest in others?" John a million questions a minute now uncertain about any of this. This was when the normal started to melt into weird. Did high class business men go to gay bars often? He didn't know if he was supposed to be connecting any of this together or not.

"Oh, I suppose I did not mention that one of the specifics of this particular bar is that all of the bartenders are women, famous for not only their excellent cocktail mixing skills, but also their beauty and ability to show off said beauty with their intelligence. Or at the very least the pretense of it." Said Sherlock with a small wave of his wrist. "It is most often frequented by men of the entertainment, business tycoons, and high-end criminals.

"It would be only expected of the newcomer in their world to be able to prove herself to the customer's taste, with the presentation of both of those skills. I suppose I will have to go shopping for something more. Feminine...tomorrow." Pondered Sherlock as he imagined what this transformation would entail of him.

John's jaw dropped. "You're going to dress as a woman?" His voice was much louder than it had been a minute ago. He moved his mouth, saying silent words to himself as he tried to form the next sentence in his mind. John ran a hand through his hair as if trying to restart his brain.

"It looks like I _will_ have to be there now," he grumbled, thinking of drunk men and their tendencies towards scantily dressed women. In this case that woman would be his Sherlock. He and reached out to grab his laptop and do research of his own. He would have to pretend to be one of those three things Sherlock had mentioned and John knew the most about being a criminal from their work with them.

Not only research on that, but research on what Sherlock had to do to become a... female. "Mycroft would give us this case," he mumbled to his computer screen.

Sherlock smiled slightly as he watched his love suddenly take interest in the new case. It seems that John was familiar with the activities that went in inside a bar with regards towards females after all, which, considering his track record, did not surprise Sherlock at all.

He leaped from the couch, and headed towards his bedroom, grabbed the laptop and busied in back into the living room. The research would have to be intense for this one, as he had never fully dressed as a female, sure he had the shoes, and the lusts of one, towards John of course, but never the full mannerism and habits, the movements that separated females from males. Sherlock was acutely aware of the gap between the two genders, as he had on more than one occasion observed his suspects and victims interact, so he had an idea forming in his head. He would need John consult on this.

He pulled his eyes off the laptop for a moment and send a text to Mycroft. "Ensure a pass for John SH"

John was scrolling through pages and pages of information, opening tabs and more tabs than his internet browser should really have. He didn't like what _any_ of his information was telling him and he kept looking up at Sherlock every once in a while.

John had his credit card out and was buying a few things here and there that would make him look like a proper criminal, from what he websites were telling him, and ordered them for next day shipping. Wednesday wasn't far away and he didn't really want to go shopping for these things.

John picked up his phone and sent a text to Lestrade informing him of his new... identity and that they might need his help at some point. Greg would come in quite useful for this. Then he promptly sent Mycroft a text to get papers ready for his new cover. This was going smoothly so far, but he was trying not to think of Sherlock and those men.

"I might lose it," he said out loud, accidentally voicing his thoughts. John glanced up at Sherlock to see if he was deep in his research or if he had heard him.

"I'm sorry what did you say John? I wasn't listening; this is really fascinating material... No wonder Mommy was more irritated then usual at least once a month..." Mumbles Sherlock to himself as he kept scrolling though tags on femininity, feminine behavior, and gender norms.

John didn't repeat what he said and just seemed startled that Sherlock didn't know about women more. "You didn't know about their..." He trailed off, remembering that Sherlock didn't know about the solar system so this shouldn't be a surprise. It also probably didn't help that Sherlock never had a girlfriend in his life like John had. Or a sister for that matter. For someone so smart he could really be so... dumb.

In another browser Sherlock had opened a list of the best shops in London to shop for clothes of expected quality. If he was going to be a woman, there was no way he was embarrassing the Holmes name and showing up as an uncouth, unkempt woman. They wanted class, and he would deliver.

"John! Let it never be said, that Holmes women are in the same category as all of those other harlots!" Sherlock raised his eyes at John, his own shining with determination. "I will have those men eating out of my hand!"

Sherlock's last sentence didn't help John's nerves at all and he was suddenly glad about a few of his purchases. He closed his laptop and stared at Sherlock. John was done for the night. He had bought more than he should in his irrational state and he should probably stop before he got too out of control.

"You are really, _really_ excited about having those men wrapped around your fingers, hmm?" John inquired, a slight edge to his voice. No, no, don't think about it. They aren't going to _actually_ do anything. They were high class business men. But they were men and men were animals. John wasn't excluding himself from this category, but he wasn't the worst man out there.

"Oh John, it's not as if I would be feeding them peeled grapes while wrapped in a sheet! You of all people should know a figure of speech when you hear one. What I mean is that my ability to get information out of them successfully will depend entirely on my presentation of...hmm...What is my name for this, what do you think?" Sherlock pondered. He needed a name that was both him, and him-the-woman as well.

"John I need a name! I cannot begin constricting my story without one. It simply will not be put together." Sherlock opened a new tab and started typing in parameters for female names and their meaning.

A name? Christ, John hadn't thought about changing their names for this. That should have been the number one thing to do in this situation. But John was busy worrying about if Sherlock's figure of speech ended up being real. That was the reason John was going to this thing in the first place.

"How about..." John glanced around the room, looking for things that would make a name come up in his head. A woman's name... names of his ex-girlfriends kept popping into his head but that seemed like it would be horribly out of place in this situation. "Sharon? No you don't look like a Sharon. Cheryl? That's kind of close to your name? No, no..." John stared hard at Sherlock, trying to see what type of woman's name he looked like.

"No, no, those are horrible and unimaginative names! Mommy would never name one of these. Hm... I wonder," Sherlock opened his mobile and pressed "call". "Mycroft! What was Mommy's choice of a baby sister name?" After waiting for a few seconds Sherlock looked apprehensively at the phone. "Are you quite certain then?...Really? Well I suppose if Daddy chose it..." Sherlock hanged up and looked at John with a thoughtful look on his face."It appears that if I was to be born a female you would have known me as Vivian."

John gaped. He just called Mycroft for help. Unbelievable. "Vivian?" He stared at Sherlock, thinking that it did fit him if he was a female. John's imagination got the best of him and he thought of a Sherlock in a tight dress, those heels John loved oh so much, and showing a bit too much cleavage... wait cleavage?

"It sounds like a... sassy name. Fits. Now another matter we have to think of," John said quickly, hoping Sherlock wouldn't think much on John calling him sassy. "If you're wearing a dress, which I assume you are going to, then how are you going to..." John made a motion towards Sherlock's chest. A kind of awkward grabbing motion that made John extremely uncomfortable with himself the second after he did it. He didn't know why he was having such a problem with this, but it was just strange to think of Sherlock as a Vivian with tits.

Sherlock's eyes sparkled in amusement as he spotted the glazed look his lover was sporting. It appears that not only Sherlock's heels would have been a turn on for him, but the rest of him dressed in something much more feminine then his usual attire would help as well.

Sherlock rose from his seat and strode to John placing his arms lightly on the other man's shoulders. He leaned his head down and grasped John's hair with a firm but gentle hold while trailing his other arm down his back.

"Well my dear..." rasped Sherlock "...I would just have to have false breasts then. The Woman's phone still holds quite a few very useful contacts within its address book, all of which I intend to use tonight and tomorrow. Can you imagine me though? I know I look delectable in heels, you've said so yourself so many many times. But think of me in something more...vivacious. "Here Sherlock smirked and nibbled on John's earlobe slightly, putting pressure here and nipping there.

"I think that the image would be more than enough to draw attention from my breasts to my other much more considerable attributes." At this Sherlock's impossibly long leg rose slightly and curled over the side of John's own leg, trailing the heel of the pale appendage over the back of his calves.

John felt warmth pool down in his gut as Sherlock got close. He gasped at Sherlock's behavior. God sometimes he couldn't follow the man's moods but he _loved_ when Sherlock shifted to sexy, teasing Sherlock.

John reached out and grabbed Sherlock's hips and pulled him closer to him in the armchair. "I think you're just doing this to see what it would do to me, aren't you?" John's voice cracked in the middle of his sentence from his sudden strong desire for Sherlock. "Not only the thrill from the case and something new, but you want to be a tease in public. Someone will be getting good tips from me." John moved a hand to pull Sherlock's head down for a heated kiss.

Sherlock was irresistible sometimes, wait no, all the time and it was a miracle John could keep his hands to himself when he was with him. Even when they were out or Mrs. Hudson was crowding in on them, John would study Sherlock and just want to be next to him and touch him in the filthiest way. If Sherlock was going to be in a little dress, then_ how_ did either of them expect John to not jump over the damn bar and take Sherlock there?

Sherlock smiled at his little victory. Unfortunately they had a lot to do tonight, and time could not be spend driving his John to delirium at the moment. They would have to postpone _that_ for a later date.

He leaned into the kiss, allowed himself to feel the heat of John's hands on his body and press back in return, before pulling away his flushed face and straightening up. "As much as I would love to be given tips by you tonight my love, it will have to wait, until this is done. I need to order those false breast you seem to be fascinated with, and prepare for my role, just like I suspect you do. I'm certain you cannot waltz in there as you are now. Hmm...We need a role for you..." Sherlock was once more sinking into his mind, attempting to come up with the most suitable character for John to portray in the following week.

John groaned in frustration, but didn't complain about it. He _could_ get Sherlock into bed with him, but he knew Sherlock wanted to focus on his case, so he let him.

"I already have one, no need to think of one," he mumbled, still trying to focus on anything other than Sherlock to make his arousal die down. He found thinking of those horrid men at the bar did the trick right away. "Don't try and arrange anything for me, I've already gotten most of my things. Unless you want to buy me a suit?" John asked. They both knew Sherlock had better taste in clothes than John did. He liked to wear his sweaters and jumpers while Sherlock liked to wear suits and sports jackets over a fairly tight dress shirt and trousers.

Wait, stop it. John mentally smacked himself. He was trying to make his arousal go away, not make it worse. "Pinstripe to be exact.".

"A suit?" Sherlock's eyebrows rose as he considered their conversation so far. "Ah. You will be going as a criminal. Playing up on the clichés then? Hmm..." Sherlock gazed at John thoughtfully. "Yes...A grey suit, with silver stripes, three button of course, a black shirt, and black leather shoes should do nicely for your completion. You're really not one for bright colors, black would make you fade into the background too much in a dim room, and you _will_ be establishing your presence.

"What sort of accessories have you purchased for the character so far? What is your name? What is your occupation? We have to go over the whole thing if we want it to be successful John."

John was assaulted with all the questions at once and he held his hands up to Sherlock to make him stop. "Hat, cane, a few new clips for my gun. Although that last one was just because I needed them after you shot most of them into the wall... I'm sure my name can stay John. No one is really going to be paying attention to me. _I'm_ not going to get information," he said, hinting that he was going to make sure Sherlock didn't get in over his head.

"Occupation... mobster, of course, what else would I be in a pinstripe suit? Come on," John said as if Sherlock should have known. "This is just the first day. We have tomorrow to work on this too, don't forget."

He knew if Sherlock was going to do shopping tomorrow then they weren't in too much of a rush to get this all done and over with tonight. And why shouldn't his name stay John? He wasn't as good of an actor as Sherlock and he might not remember to respond to anything other than John...

Sherlock sighed exasperatedly. "John, please, pay attention. You will be going into a high class club that is _frequented_ by known mafia, bratva, yakuza, and other criminal organization members. You will not be able to simply appear, you will need a reputation. An established reputation, even if small, but that has to hold up to scrutiny should the occasion arise. Your name can be John, but John what? How did you rise high enough to be allowed into the Callooh Callay, who invited you, remember that place is invitation only, and finally what would be your reason for suddenly showing up in there on the same day as a new girl?" Sherlock was amazed that John did not think of those things, he was not risking exposure, and most importantly John's life, just because of a single detail that went untouched.

This was one of those moments that John wanted to strangle his love. Granted, he didn't think of _some_ of those things but sometimes Sherlock's voice made it seem like he was being spoken down on, and it drove John up the wall. He closed his eyes, took a deep, deep breath, and opened them again, feeling fine again.

"Calm down, my love. I've already contacted Lestrade and Mycroft to make a background for me. As for showing up on the same day as the "new girl," John used air quotes as he said it, raising an eyebrow at Sherlock. "Pure coincidence. I won't even mention you. I won't even buy my drink from you, as there usually are more than one way to get drinks from a bar like that." John was referring to the shot girls that wondered around trying to make men buy shots from them.

"How did I rise high enough to be allowed in the bar? Why, by tripping up the great Sherlock Holmes of course. You're going to make a post and change the date on it so it seems real on your website, mind you." Yes, John was picking at Sherlock just a bit, but almost all the criminals knew about Sherlock and they did _try_ to stay away. Try was the keyword. "Who invited me is the good question though..."

Sherlock huffed at his lover's tone as he listened to him. He understood clearly who John was referring to in his speech about drinks, and hate as he did, John did have a point. "Alright, then I will type up a notice on the blog dating a few months back, stating that a criminal managed to get away from me, and leave me with virtually no clues to his crime, and later send his regards to me. That should be enough, and if Lestrade _and_ Mycroft are establishing your identity, then we do have that covered. What we left with are your last name and the reference...Oh!" Sherlock jumped excitedly.

"I know! John it was Her, I still have her phone, and it is not known widely that She had been gone, so a message send from her phone to a few numbers will ensure you have an invitation!" Sherlock puffed up with pride, looking expectantly at John, waiting for his reaction.

"Brilliant!" John said, a smile on his face. He was really getting into it now, and he liked the thrill. "Invitation from Her, which I'm sure will raise a few eyebrows about what my tastes are, but I'm sure its respectable for someone in my new line of work," he shrugged, not really caring if it was or if it wasn't. Then his happy smile turned into a sly one.

"Maybe one day you'll have to punish me for being such a _bad_ criminal and fooling you," John couldn't help but suggest. It did fit their situation and Sherlock did like to play in the bedroom sometimes. Really, though, John was just trying to buy some time as he thought of a last name. He couldn't be Irish because there was no way he looked like he was in the Irish Mafia. He didn't look Italian... His blonde hair was starting to become a problem for this.

Sherlock smiled at the direction his lover was taking this. Then he furrowed his brow. "So we have an established background for you, only thing left is the name...hmm… can you pull of a Russian accent John?" Asked Sherlock.

John did not have the complexion for the local mafia, but his fair hair were quite common for the Slavic phenotype, and bratva has been moving into London lately, fortunately for them, not too intensely, otherwise there was a much bigger chance for John to slip when faced with an actual Russian mobster.

John grinned. "Russian mobster, got it. Should be easy enough," he nodded enthusiastically and planned to practice his accent for the rest of the night. He had this set, and Sherlock's pick for a suit matched if he was in the Russian mafia. The silver and grey colors coincided with what most people wore during winter time, seeing as those colors were considered cool colors. And since Russia was a bit chilly all the time...

"Yes!" He said, standing up suddenly, clapping his hands together, completely taken by this idea. Now last name... John wasn't really a Russian name so maybe he would have to change it.

"Anton Kyznetsov?" He spoke in an almost perfect Russian accent as he said a name and looked expectantly at Sherlock.

Sherlock stared at John in amazement. His lover continued to surprise him, and Sherlock loved him for it. "John! I never knew you could do such a convincing accent. Where did you pick that up?" He could already picture Anton in his mind. John gave a humble shrug, a smile still on his lips. He picked up on things when Sherlock was on his cases and he was behind overshadowed by Sherlock's brilliance. Finally it was showing its benefits.

"Yes! This is perfect. You are an arms dealer, former military of course no man in bratva isn't, keep your rank by the way, it will give you more credence; so! You are Kapitan (captain) Anton Kyznetsov, from...Saint Petersburg, here to establish connections and find more customers, you met Her..."

"And!" John said quickly, interrupting Sherlock. "When I met Her, of course we know what she does, and I managed to find clients through her and had to help her through a rough time which I will have to think more on, so I suppose the invitation would be considered a..." John squinted his eyes as he thought of the word. "A blat? That's when someone uses his contacts to receive a favor right?" John waved his hand in the air, he would have to practice more.

"And through Her, you, Sherlock, ran into me and caused me _much _trouble to which I managed to escape your fantastic deducing abilities...".

"Oh you're good .." Breathed out Sherlock and swooped into the other man's arms making him stumble back into the armchair and sat on Jo-Anton's lap with a flourish.

"Anton, my dear where do you pick up those tidbits of information?" Sherlock, now trying to fit as Vivian, shifted his entire body just a tiny bit _more_ and leaned on Anton's arm that was resting on the cushion. He placed his hand on his clavicle, trailing his fingertips slightly down and then up towards his hair that was still messed from earlier fun activity. The slender male lifted his feet so they sat on the other side of the chair and turned his head towards the one he was perched on.

"I'm so happy that you are finally going to be coming in to watch me work! I was so lonely without you in my old job, I'm so happy you got me this one." Sherlock thought that perhaps he could call Mycroft and have him arrange it so Vivian was given a position through "Anton's" connections.

John let out a laugh as they both landed in their chair. Upon hearing his new name however, the smile fell from his face and a serious, no-funny-business look fell across his face. He felt his mind click into ex-solider, arms dealer, Russian mobster and his now-piercing brown eyes fell upon "Vivian" in his arms. Anton didn't move to hold her, of course not, a mobster wouldn't show that much affection towards one woman.

He had to clear his throat before he spoke, making sure to speak in his almost-good enough Russian accent. "Couldn't let a pretty little lady like you work for that last scumbag of a man you called a boss," he immediately imaged Anton taking revenge on this so called boss.

A little smile spread across John's lips. "Well I guess it isn't a coincidence that we show up on the same day," John said, back to his normal accent. "And now I don't have to order my drinks from someone else. I expect some flair when pouring mine." He winked at Sherlock and leaned down to kiss his forehead.


	2. Royal Widow

Hello there dear readers! Once more, here is a disclaimer: We do not own Sherlock! We wish we did, but alas we don't. It's all Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC, and Steve Moffat.

A side note from SeaStoneChair, my coauthor, responsible for John/Anton: Anton's character is based LIGHTLY off of a Donald Draper from Mad Men. Not his actions but just his looks.

But if you want to see what his behavior looks like there is a link in my profile. Along with a picture of a woman I now think of as my Vivian.

The next day was spend in a flurry of motion on Sherlock's part, as he seemed to have visited all of London's designer shops, and filled the flat with boxes, bags, parcels, and more bags. There were shoe boxes, carefully arranged by the sofa; the kitchen table, for once, seemed to be overflowing with not the test but rather make up tubes and accessories. The Bunsen burner was put away in favor of a light-up make-up mirror, and the number of brushes and little boxes of palettes were not shrinking anytime soon.

Around 5 PM Sherlock bustled into the flat, arms filled with more bags, and his hair artfully styled into something that made his face look that much softer and feminine. It wasn't cut short, but rather curled even more around the angular face, smoothing the sharp angles, and accenting the long pale neck.

John was exploring the kitchen, picking up things with interest, wondering why Sherlock need _so_ many things. All of John's things were either in his room already or on their way. He knew what almost all the things were in the kitchen, but that didn't make it any less strange to see it there. Mrs. Hudson was kind enough not to ask any questions, but really what _must_ she be thinking.

When John heard the door flung open he quickly dropped a palette of eye shadow and pretended he wasn't being nosy. "Do you plan on using all of this?" He asked when he assumed Sherlock would be within listening distance.

John glanced at Sherlock and then quickly did a double take. Sherlock had his hair cut in a new style. He stared at it with interest; it made a few of Sherlock's features stand out even more than before. Those cheekbones, for instance, were even more prominent and that neck that John liked oh so much, looked much longer. He made a noise of approval.

Sherlock glanced at John as he stepped into the room and put down his purchases. "Well, I expect to be working at the bar for at least the duration of a week, as to not arouse too many suspicions, and to be able to provide better coverage for my act, I will be going through this dressed in feminine attire. If even one of the customers or other girls decides to follow me home, they will not see a woman suddenly transforming into a man, but rather a cozy scene of a tired bartender coming home, taking off her heels, and changing into something more comfortable and suitable for home.

"We cannot afford exposure, and if I have to wear skirts, and do my hair and put this ridiculous powders on my face to ensure that, then so be it." As he said all that Sherlock has moved to the couch, and started opening the numerous bags and baggies that were within reach, and pulling out cloths, jewelry, and shoes. One particularly pink bag was revealed to be filled with underwear that Sherlock was currently holding at eye-level and examining from all sides. "What do you think John?"

"Wait does that mean I have to live somewhere else then?" John asked. If Sherlock was followed home then he couldn't be seen with Anton Kyznetsov living in the same flat. John hadn't thought about having to move out during this part of the case and he liked it even less.

He was eyeing the very feminine panties Sherlock was holding, wondering why on earth Sherlock would have to go to those types of lengths for this. But then again it was Sherlock and if it wasn't done thoroughly then why even do it. John walked over to the couch and peered in the bag.

"How many bloody pairs did you get?!" The bag was completely full of underwear. It wasn't that John didn't like it, because oh how he loved it, it was just... who else other than John was going to see Sherlock's knickers?

Sherlock seemed to have read John's mind as his gaze snapped at the doctor, curiously examining his pink bag. "John I will be wearing skirts, tight skirts, I can't very well wear pants under them, it would show too much, but an outline of panties is perfectly acceptable, and expected. Besides, who said they were only for this case?" He finished with a smile that was flushed towards his lover.

"And you don't have to move anywhere, as it is not I, but rather you that live here and I am simply keeping you company, grateful for your assistance with the job. That is why during the day I will not be taking cases, but rather behaving as it is normal or a female my age, and occupation." Sherlock put down the panties, and reached towards a wrapped parcel, that seemed to fit snugly in his lap. As he unwrapped it, something flesh-colored was seen through the transparent paper, and then reveled to be a pair of individually wrapped false breast, complete with wrinkly areola, perky little nubs, and a color that matched Sherlock's skin tone effortlessly.

John gave Sherlock a mirrored smile at the suggestive comment. Ok, so they would live together. Good. Except he would have to act like a Russian Mobster for longer than he expected. They would have to get Mrs. Hudson on it after all so she wouldn't call them by their real names. It worked perfectly, though. Now John had his nights with Sherlock, or Vivian in this case, still.

Eyes glanced down at the parcel and he stared. He stared long and hard at what Sherlock had unwrapped. John didn't say anything for a while, his thoughts scattered all over the place, none of them completing full sentences. "Those are... They look so real," He wanted to touch them and feel them. To see if they actually felt real, but that seemed out of place to do since they were just sitting there in Sherlock's lap.

"Yes, they do!" Chimed Sherlock, looking down at his new acquisitions with glee. He shrugged off his coat, quickly unbuttoned the shirt, and, once that was thrown on the ground, picked up one of the breasts. After looking at it for a moment, he peeled a bit of a sticky paper from the inside, and pressed the item to his left breast side. The thing seemed to stick there seamlessly and Sherlock repeated the process with the right side.

After that he stood up, did a little walk and then a twirl, and ended up facing John. He put his hands on his cocked hips, tilted his head, and asked: "Well Dear? Do you find them attractive?"

It was an odd sight, but what made it even stranger was the twitch in John's pants. Maybe it was from Sherlock stripping his shirt off, maybe it was from the fake breasts, but probably it was both of those things combined. John took a small step towards Sherlock to examine them. When Sherlock had them on, they looked like they were real and actually a part of Sherlock. He glanced nervously up at Sherlock before reaching out to feel. Oh, he could get used to those. Especially at night with Vivian under the sheets.

"I find _you_ very attractive," John muttered, still "testing" out the fake breasts. He could imagine it now; how utterly sexy Sherlock would be dressed up, leaning over the bar serving drinks with a teasing smile, breasts nearly falling out of their shirt. John ran a finger over the nipples and gasped. Those felt so real too. He probably shouldn't be surprised. Sherlock always found the best of everything and would accept no less.

Sherlock shivered as his lover stepped towards him, with his eyes glued to his new breasts stronger than they were glued to his own chest. He flushed as he registered the tightening pants and the dilated pupils that John seemed to be sporting and had a strange urge to cover up. As John's hands came up, cupping his new additions, Sherlock couldn't help but let out a little gasp of excitement. It appeared that the falsies were extremely delicate, and heat-conductive.

Sherlock could feel the increasing heat of John's fingers as they continued to roam his breasts, and felt his own pants becoming more and more constructive. He pressed closer and leaned in, letting the flesh colored attributes rest completely in the palm of John's hands, and put his own hands around his shoulders. Face flushing, and hips pushing closer to his lover's Sherlock couldn't help but imagine what it would be like, walking around with these, constantly teasing John with his image.

John finally looked up at Sherlock's face, his eyes glazed over. He pulled his hands off, reluctantly. "These," he said, pointing to the breasts as if Sherlock didn't know what he was talking about. "Are fantastic." John could practically feel the air between them shift. He wanted to bend Sherlock over the couch and take him right there.

"I'm not going to be able to keep my hands off you." John admitted. Sherlock was delectable all the time, but this was just so much more of an added bonus. And the fact that John could tell that Sherlock liked the attention he was getting from John. "And you are going to be /such/ a tease," he groaned with the realization that he couldn't actually touch Sherlock while they were on the case... in public.

John moved his hands down to Sherlock's hips and rested them there, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Opening them again, the glazed look was gone but a small smile played on his lips as he leaned up and kissed Sherlock on the lips lightly. If Sherlock was going to get his fill of teasing then John might as well retaliate now.

Sherlock let out a sigh of disappointment as he felt John pull away, but calmed at the kiss. This was going to be torture. He had grown accustomed to John filling his time and body at almost daily basis, and as exciting as the case was, it was also constricting this routine. Sherlock found that he did not enjoy that. But, work was work, and so he straightened up and pulled away completely.

"What say we get dressed and go for a test drive of this then?" Asked the taller man, as he strolled towards the bags. Sherlock looked inquisitively at John while asking that. "We can go to Angelo's as Vivian and Anton, and see how the public reacts?"

John let out a puff of air and nodded. "Okay, we'll go... as long as you promise to eat," he said, staring hard into Sherlock's eyes as if trying to force meaning into his words. Then he turned and went upstairs to his room. Sherlock had come home earlier with the suit John asked for, and then a few more suits. The other suits seemed kind of like an "I'm-already-buying-you-things-so-here-are-a-few-more" type of afterthought.

He stripped out of his jumper and trousers and unzipped the pinstriped suit from its plastic bag protecting it. _Don't spill anything on it._ John thought to himself as he pulled the pants on and black dress shirt. This day and the first day he was to make an appearance at the bar were going to be the only days he would wear this particular suit. The other suits would be for later days when he may or may not head to the bar to keep grabby hands off of Sherlock and off of Vivian.

After buttoning up the dress shirt, he shrugged on the suit jacket and buttoned one button. John reached into his one bag. He didn't have a million different bags like Sherlock, but this one had everything he needed. He had bought new, expensive cologne and sprayed it once. It was strong if it were to be a few more sprays. He grabbed his fedora, shoes and socks, and cane and headed down stairs to put the rest on and wait for Sherlock who would most probably take longer than he had.

As Sherlock watched John go up to his room, he had sat on the couch and opened the rest of the bags in the vicinity. This was his first night as Vivian, and the presentation needed to be flawless. Vivian was a perfectionist, and did not settle for less when she could manage it. Sherlock had picked up the pink bag and grabbed a sheer black pair of thongs from it, putting it aside. Dark pantyhose soon joined them as well, and then off he went, digging into the boxes and bags in search of the perfect outfit. After a few minutes of ruthless self-criticizing he ended up with a tight blue V-neck shirt with three quarter sleeves, and a dark grey pencil skirt that went from under his rib cage to just on top of his knees. Sherlock also grabbed black heels with a small bow on the back. Pulling along all of that, and a few accessories he marched towards his bedroom.

It took a bit of time to put everything in right, and a bit of tricky tucking, but after 15 minutes Sherlock was satisfied with his initial look. Standing in front of the mirror Sherlock's eyes fell on the scatter of jewelry on the cabinet and picked up a silk ribbon necklace with a few crystals sparkled here and there, clipped on small diamond earrings, and finished his look with a quick swipe of dark blue nail polish. Sherlock pulled on the heels, once more enjoying the position they out him into, and walked out of the room. As he rushed pass the living room and into the kitchen, Sherlock sat down in front of the light-up make-up mirror, and started meticulously applying the make-up.

John had to push bags aside so he could sit in his own chair. He slipped on his socks and laced up his shoes, tying them tightly. He was still debating on if he should go with the hat or not as it sat in the chair across from him. As he decided in his head, weighing the pros and cons, he picked up his cane and wiggled the top metal handle free, pulling it off to expose a thin knife. It wasn't anything special but it would get the job done if he had to do some threatening... or more. Hopefully it wouldn't come down to that though, because he had a feeling that Anton wouldn't have a problem getting the job done, but John would later have a problem with it.

He heard Sherlock rush into the kitchen, but couldn't see him as he quickly slid the knife back into the cane so Sherlock wouldn't see. Couldn't spoil all his secrets to the detective. He went back to staring at his hat. Sherlock would probably have a better opinion on this.

"Sherlock do you think I should wear..." John began to ask, turning in his chair. His sentence trailed off when he looked at Sherlock. He looked like a proper woman and John couldn't remember what he was going to ask. Sherlock's high waist skirt made him look even thinner and added some curve that John knew he didn't have before. That shirt he -no, _she_- was wearing was tight and only added to the figure. Even before Sherlock put on the makeup he looked feminine. Once the makeup was on, it was hard to tell he was ever a man other than if someone looked at his hands and feet. But really John had run across women with manly hands and feet before so no one in their right minds would notice. They would be too transfixed on everything else. Sherlock as Vivian looked stunning.

Sherlock finished with the make-up and raised his eyes at the mirror to take in the full effect. His eyes seemed to pop even more, now that they were accented with deep brown eye-shadow, and black eyeliner; putting on mascara gave him full lashes, and a swipe of powder on his cheeks softened them even more, without making them less prominent. Finally the coat of coral toned lipstick gave his lips the fullness they did not usually possess.

Sherlock reached his hand out and grabbed the small vial of perfume that sat by the mirror and dipped a small amount on his neck, wrists, and between his /breasts/. Putting the gold Fan de Fendi back on the table, Sherlock felt that Vivian was ready to make an appearance.

"Are you," John had to clear his throat as he addressed this new person in front of him. "Are you ready for this?" He asked. Sherlock was probably more ready for it than he was, but he needed to make sure before either one of them shifted from who they were to their new characters. Ex-soldier, arms dealer, Russian mafia, Anton Kyznetsov. John repeated that phrase in his head over and over, trying to make it permanent. Thank /god/ this was just a test run. His nerves hit him full on.

He didn't even know he was nervous for the acting part until this moment. It's just dinner. Dinner as a mobster with a gorgeous Vivian at his side. John had even bought a new leather wallet for this since he knew he would be pulling it out a lot at the bar to pay for drinks... Of course he was ready for this.

Vivian smiled, a fleeting warm feeling across her face, as she came closer to Anton. The man had helped her immensely in her hour of need and she was just as grateful to him. It did not hinder things that he was very handsome, and Vivian couldn't grasp how a man so kind to her, could appear to be so cold in public. As she reached Anton, Vivian's hand settled on his and she leaned in, lightly brushing her lips over his clean shaved cheek, smelling his cologne, and basking in its aroma. "I am always ready when you call me Anton," she said looking at him with a smile.

Here we go... Anton stood, taking his cane in one hand, and held his other arm out to Vivian for her to take. He was a gentleman to say the least as he wouldn't be caught in public without a lady on his arm or at dinner with him when he wasn't with clients or his men.

"Good. Let's go," his accent wasn't heavy; he had lived in Britain for long enough to blend the two accents together. Anton led them both out the door and onto the street. He held up his cane to signal for a taxi and one immediately pulled up. Anton opened the door for Vivian, and before he got in, he took a survey of the street, as if making sure no one else was around. Once in the cab he told the driver the restaurant and promptly forgot his existence.

"I assume that you are acclimating well to your new life." It wasn't a question, it was like he was telling her that she /was/ and there was no way that she couldn't be.

Vivian nodded her head, as she turned towards slightly towards her companion. "Yes, Anton. I'm actually finding it a lot more enjoyable then my old one" She said with slight remorse in her voice. "It is not that I did not like my old one, you see, but after everything that happened...I just had to get away. Both from that town and that man. Anton I have to thank you again for getting me out of there. I don't know much longer I would have lasted" said Vivian grasping her hands together on her lap, eyes cast downwards.

She was truly happy now that Anton had taken her under his wing. Oh she knew perfectly well that men like him did not get attached, or do anything other than for their own gain, but still...as she glanced at the man who was sitting next to her Vivian's heart fluttered, as she took in the smart gray suit that sat so well on him, along with the fedora. He was a man that knew what he wanted and got it, and Vivian couldn't help but be attracted to that.

He made a noise of approval. When he had gotten her out of her "situation" it wasn't for the sake of protecting her. It was because he wanted her, and Anton got what he wanted. He took her away, took care of the problem, had his men clean up the mess and brought her along for the ride. When he was bored of her he would rid of her like he did the others. Anton wasn't looking at her; he was looking out the window at the streets passing by.

He tapped the glass separating them from the driver. "Speed it up old man," Anton nearly growled and he felt the taxi accelerate just a bit more. It was enough to appease him. "Your first day at the bar is coming quick. I'll be there to see if you handle it properly," his words had underlying meaning and both of them knew what it meant. It meant that she had better not embarrass him and put a stain on his reputation.

Vivian smiled at the hidden message. She was excellent at what she did, and working at a bar since a very young age had given her more than enough practice and flair to be able to perform feats with a bottle in both artistic and practical way.

"Thank you Anton. I would be very glad to serve you a drink once more. It reminds me of how we met." Vivian recalled their first meeting, and the way his eyes followed her all over the bar that night. She had to admit, it was one of her best ones, as even though it was extremely busy, and she was the only bartender on duty as the other man called in sick at the last minute, and the crowd only kept growing, she still had a smile and a properly made drink for every customer. "I still recall the drink you ordered" Mentioned the woman as she leaned back on the seat of the taxi and slightly closed her eyes. "You looked so serious too, even though you were surrounded by your men, you didn't smile."

"Royal Widow," he said, recalling the drink too. It was a drink concoction of Crown Royal (Canadian whiskey) and amaretto. He had strayed from his usual that night to test her abilities with drinks, making her fix him and his men many different unusual types.

Anton finally looked over at her smiling face. She particularly liked to mention how they met and he knew she had feelings for him, which he simply would feed and satisfy for her sake. He may not show his affection outright, but he had his ways.

The taxi practically screeched to a halt as it stopped in front of their restaurant. It seemed the driver wanted them out as soon as possible. Anton opened the door and held it open for Vivian. He casually dropped the driver's payment in the passenger seat window and took his lady's arm to walk in the restaurant.

Vivian felt a little light-headed when his eyes finally rested on her and practically fluttered out of the taxi, leaning on Anton's arm for support. As they neared the restaurant Vivian glanced over the facade. It seemed like a nice enough place, a little run down, but still homely, and well decorated. Looking at the interior through the window Vivian was able to see the dark wood tables and candles at some of them. She thought it looked quite cozy, and she pressed an inch closer to Anton. It was not cold, but the evening chill was starting to settle in, and after the warm taxi she was feeling it more than usual. She felt a bit silly at forgetting her coat back at Anton's house, but when he strode into the kitchen she just couldn't keep him waiting, and rushed out. She supposed it was a good thing she remembered her clutch.

Anton picked an out of the way restaurant; he couldn't risk being seen by one of his more vicious "clients" in the center of the city. This wasn't a place that needed a reservation, that way his name wouldn't be recognized by chance. They were seated in a far back corner of the restaurant by a suddenly nervous looking hostess. She left quickly to get their waiter.

Anton pulled Vivian's seat out for her to seat her before taking his own. He unbuttoned his jacket as he sat down and took off his fedora, placing it on the top of his cane which was leaning against the wall. Anton's eyes were on Vivian, watching her closely. The waiter bustled up and before he could speak Anton ordered their drinks for both of them without taking his eyes off her. "Old fashioned and your best bottle of wine for the lady."

Vivian blushed prettily as Anton kept looking at her and smiled that sweet smile that only seemed to light up her face when he was around. Until she met Anton she didn't even know she had a smile like that, he just seemed to bring out unusual things from her.

"How did you know about this place? It looks very nice and comfortable." She asked while straightening her skirt, and placing the napkin on her lap. She had absolutely no desire to spoil the evening with a wardrobe malfunction, and so took steps to prevent it. Vivian placed her clutch at the little side table, placed there for exactly that purpose and glanced at the rest of the restaurant.

She noticed the way the hostess looked at Anton and smiled to herself. They were all so often frightened of the man. As her eyes settled on his impressive suit clad frame once more Vivian couldn't help but lean forward a bit, subtly pushing her arms closer to her sides, to bring her bust out just a little bit. She was not a promiscuous person by far, but she so wanted him to keep his eyes on her.

In the back of Anton's mind a John was screaming to not look down the shirt as much as John wanted to. But Anton kept his eyes fixed on Vivian's face. The waiter came back and set their drinks, and bottle, down on the table before dashing away to wait on other people before taking their order. Anton leaned forward once their drinks were set down and took a sip from his. The sting in his throat was a welcome and only served to sharpen his mind.

"I was taking care of some business in the alley across the street," Anton started, giving a cold glare at a restaurant patron that walked a little too close to their table. "I knew you would like it." His Russian slur caught the attention of the attentive hostess who seemed intent on keeping a close eye on them. Anton took one of Vivian's hands and kissed the top of it, eyes still never leaving her soft blue eyes. No, no one else in this restaurant mattered, or even existed, in Anton's world.

The hand holding hers was warm and the kiss scorched like fire, but she wouldn't have any other way. When his eyes got like this Vivian stopped thinking of everything besides him. His cold eyes the color of stones on the beach, the sandy hair on his head that seemed to have seeped in the colors of autumn fields, and the face that she so loved tracing with her eyes.

She was taller than him by a few inches, but when they stood next to each other, Vivian felt like she was beside a little tank, so compact but also so very filled with power. She's really never seen anyone quite like Anton, and frankly had no desire to. Her "Anton" smile settled in once more, and her long fingers curled around his. She brought her own hand over their intertwined ones and leaned in to place a chase kiss on his knuckles. They were rough, and could feel the little scars that littered his hand with her lips. She often wondered how he got them.

The waiter came back, opened his mouth to speak, but Anton cut him off, placing the order for both of them. Salad for her, steak for him. When the waiter stood there for a moment longer than he should have Anton tore his eyes from Vivian to set an angry stare at him. It looked like he nearly pissed himself before he scampered off. The hostess gave Anton an angry look. He was going to have a problem with her if she kept it up. It wasn't like he wasn't used to this behavior around him, it was just that she was particularly annoying in the way she stared at Vivian and then back at him.

Anton kept his hand on Vivian's and took another sip of his drink, sloshing it around for a second afterwards, and then his eyes were back on hers. "The hostess seems jealous of you," Anton said, his voice low. He knew she really wasn't, it seemed like she was more worried for Vivian than anything. But Anton complimented his lady in any way he could without coming out and saying it properly.

"She has every right to be jealous of me" Smiled the woman as the finally took a sip of wine placed before her. Its rich flavor settled nicely on her tongue, and carried down her throat, reminding her to be mindful, and not to drink too quickly. Vivian while working at a bar, did not have the greatest alcohol tolerance, and preferred to be careful of her liquor.

She watched as Anton swirled his drink in its glass and her eyes followed the movement slightly mesmerized. The light from the ceiling lights, dim as they were, reflected in the amber liquid and set little glimpses of gold to reflect on Anton's face. It suddenly seemed a lot warmer and Vivian said so. "You know when light reflects from the glass it sets little...traces of gold on you. You look like a gold-flecked statue." As she said it Vivian's eyes came to rest on Anton's.

Anton raised an eyebrow at her comment. He didn't respond as she was just spouting her ridiculous feminine nonsense, but he did give her hand a small squeeze.

"You know," he began, leaning forward just a little bit more. "When a man walks into a room, he brings his whole life with him. He has a million reasons for being anywhere, just ask him. If you listen, he'll tell you how he got there." A pause as he took another drink. "These people in this restaurant, they don't listen. They don't want to listen; they are so desperate to see something made up that they'll believe anything." Anton's voice lowered even more. "That's why I was so... interested in you that first night. You saw. You listened." He knew what he was doing, wooing her in the only way he knew how, continuing to drag her along with him. That's how he did it, purring sweet nothings into her ears every moment he had.

Vivian felt flattered as she listened to Anton talk to her. That was why he was so fascinating to her. So very harsh on so many things, but always ever so courteous with her. "How could I not when you were the only one who had things worth listening to. You were surrounded by companions, and yet they blabbered on about themselves, and their accomplishments, boasting and gloating, while you were like a calm rock in the sea of madness. I couldn't resist watching you as well. And when you came over to the bar after everybody left how could I not listen to you?" Finished Vivian cradling her glass of wine and stroking her thumb over his palm. She smiled and leaned the glass a little bit towards Anton. "Cheers"

Anton lifted his glass and finished it off. The food came only moments after and a different waiter than before placed their food down, asking if they needed anything else. Anton blinked away from Vivian's face and looked directly in the new waiter's face. "Why is this empty," Once again it wasn't a question, it was a command. He was talking about his now-empty glass on the table.

The waiter made a face and went to fetch another Old Fashioned for him. He pulled his hand away from Vivian's, leaning back in his chair to he pick up his utensils to eat. Anton cut his steak up in small, perfect squares, twenty-two squares exactly. He did this every time with his food, cut it into squares and always an even amount of squares on the plate. Anton was the type of person who needed order. He needed to set the order and the order needed to be followed precisely. Then he waited for his drink. "Enjoy, my dear." Anton said, as if giving permission for her to start.

Vivian picked up her own salad fork and gave the particularly long strand of seaweed on the top of her dish a twirl, settling it on the fork and brought it to her mouth carefully. They sat there for a few minutes when the flustered waiter with the pinched-up face he was not particularly caring to hide came to the table to pour Anton his drink. As Vivian watched his hands from the corner of her eye she noticed the slight tremor, and rapidly raising her eyes to the man's face caught a glimpse of a smirk. Alarmed she tried to straighten up fast enough to prevent the foolish man from making the mistake of his life, but was a second too late, as the smirk widened and the tremors grew to a full twitch, drops or liquid splattering across the table and both of its occupants. Vivian froze.

Anton's face hardened the instant he realized what this foolish waiter was about to do. When the liquid spilled, only drops, but it was enough, Anton moved instantly. One hand reached out to grab the man's tie and yank him down close to Anton's face as his other went for the cane, pulling out the hidden knife. He put the knife on the table, not openly threatening this imbecilic in public, but making it clear enough for Vivian and the waiter to understand what would happen if he didn't make the right choices for the next few minutes.

Anton took a deep breath, calming down his boiling rage. He had a short fuse when things don't go as planned and spilled drink? Not as planned. "I expect," he spoke through gritted teeth. "You to apologize to the lady for spilling on her." Behind the waiter Anton could see the hostess with fear and panic written all over her face. Anton knew she was going to do something just as stupid as this waiter had, but still he waited for the waiter to make his apology before giving the next set of orders.

Pale, Vivian watched the scene playing out in front of her. Oh, she knew she should have been quicker! Then Anton wouldn't have to control his rapidly increasing temper, and the stupid man would not have to pick his life from ruins within next weeks. She noticed the hostess that Anton pointed out to her earlier coming closer with a determined look on her face as she listened to the waiter's stuttering apologies to her companion. She swiftly grabbed her clutch off the side table and with a practiced flick of her wrist settled it on top of the knife that appeared from the construct of Anton's cane.

As she saw the hostess come closer she smiled, getting her attention and said in a pleasant, calm voice "If you would please fetch me a new napkin Miss, it seemed one of your workers was a bit more careless then usual and spoiled mine". Vivian hoped fervently that this distraction would be enough, but it appeared that luck was not on her side tonight.

Anton was highly aware of his surroundings. He could practically feel the air shift when Vivian placed her clutch over his knife. His hand moved from his knife to the steak knife, the weapon so graciously provided to them by the restaurant itself.

"Now, be a good boy and tell your hostess, whom seems to be just as daft as you," Anton chose an English word he picked up from the years of living here so the obviously dim-witted boy would understand better. "To fuck off." His patience was thinning quickly as the hostess promptly ignored Vivian, which only served to anger him further. Anton took that moment to slice upward with the steak knife, cutting through the waiters tie, releasing him from Anton's death grip. The waiter stumbled back, red faced and panting before turning on the hostess and trying to convince her. She just didn't seem to take the hint though.

Well then! This is it for chapter 2, wait a few days for the next one. We would both very much appreciate reviews, or Favorites, or follows, as they warm us up and give us candy. It's just a tiny button, and 5 seconds of your time, guys! Thanks for reading.


	3. He protects me

Here we are people! Chapter three! The Big 03. Hope you enjoy, review, fav, follow and remember that the rights to Sherlock do not belong to us, but to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC, and Steven Moffat.

The Bar Chapter 3: HE protects /me/

Anton took a deep, steadying breath and took a deep drink from his half poured drink. Might as well not let it go to waste. The waiter was gone, but was soon to be replaced by the hostess. The entire restaurant had quieted down and was either whispering or just watching the scene unfold. Anton reached out once more and took a hold of Vivian's hand, eyes glued to her face, when the hostess stomped up and started to spout angry words at him. He easily ignored her words about his rudeness to the staff and his misplaced anger and /who he thought he was/ as he stared at his lady. She was beautiful, and her beauty calmed him. Anton's eyes swept across her perfectly sculpted face and into those dark, soft curls.

The woman was nearly blocked out when he heard her say Vivian's name. His rage had almost settled when it started to boil once more. This... low class /hostess/ commenting on his lady? He wouldn't have any of that. Anton ripped his eyes from Vivian's face and settled an icy stare on the hostess. She stumbled over her words and he took that moment to step in. "I know you pity her," he began, voice steady but with a hard edge to it, like he could snap at any moment. "You think I mistreat her. You see what you want. You know why you see that?" Anton's voice grew louder with the anger. The whispers in the restaurant had silenced. "Because /you're/ the one with the shitter. You see her, a gorgeous woman, dressed to the nines and you envy her. You want to be her. Then you see me and you think, 'He must beat her at home. He must treat her like shit.' Because there is /no way/ Vivian can have everything." The woman's jaw had gone slack, her eyes wide. "Well she can, and I'll give it to her. You want some respect? Go out and get it for yourself." Anton's hand clenched around the glass, as he waited for her to respond, leave, do /anything/ to provoke him. He wasn't foolish enough to do anything in public; he couldn't be stupid. The woman didn't do anything, tears starting in her eyes. "Beat it." His voice commanded her, as he looked back to Vivian.

Vivian sat there at table, looking as Anton revealed the woman for everything she was. He never raised his voice, he was sharp, to the point, not sugar-coating any of his words. She kept her eyes of him as his traveled to her, letting him take her in. She knew he calmed around her, seen it a few times by now when they managed to run into his clients or associates. He would be alike to Vesuvius, ready to explode, uncaring of others, but then she would shift into his line of vision, smile her little smile, there just for him, and his rage would slowly settle, simply simmering, instead of boiling and escaping.

Vivian put her other hand on Anton's, gently freeing the glass that was in danger of snapping, and put it down on the table. She raised her eyes to the hostess that was still standing in front of them and send her a cold smile. "He's right, you know. He does not need to beat a woman to build his self-worth; there is no need for him to hit and scream, and throw bottles at me, to be seen as a man, and someone to be respected. You see, and allow your mind to make the connections without truly thinking about it. I am not abused, I never will be, and HE is the one who makes sure of that. So now, if you would be so kinds, do bring me that napkin I asked for earlier, and leave us to our dinner?" Finished the elegant woman, placing the soiled item in the hostess' slack hand and curling her fingers around it. After she did that, her whole body turned towards Anton, and she softly pushed his glass back into his palm, smiling slightly.

Anton watched Vivian closely as she spoke to the hostess. His personality had rubbed off on her and at times like this, it showed and when it showed it shone brightly. In a twisted way he was proud of that, but he was relieved when the woman left. He relaxed, his shoulders slouching only a little and only for Vivian to notice. Anton's now free hand, picked up his fork and stabbed at a cube of steak. A small, tiny, smug smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "She was a dull one," he commented to Vivian, popping the cube into his mouth. Anton's eyes went from Vivian, to his glass, to his plate and back. Nothing else would distract him at this point. He had had his fun and now he was sure no one else would be bothering them. He was quite sure that they wouldn't even be bothered for the check at this point. "Only you, my dear, could keep me in line like that." Anton was fully aware of her effect on him and he used it to its fullest advantage. If she had not been there then the waiter may or may not have lost some fingers. He could never soil her with his line of work and that was his full motivation to be calm around her. No bloodshed, as minimum amount of foul words, and no cruel tactics. Anton may show his affection in different ways, but it was clear when he did it.

"Indeed she was. And so very unoriginal!" Chuckled Vivian, as she finally got to get back to her salad. Her attention was pulled away for a moment as a quite pale waiter came to drop off her new napkin, but after putting it on her lap, went back to the food. "You know, I don't think I can recall the last time you got so annoyed. Maybe when that cab driver was not careful and made us jostle the whole way, but that was months ago..." Trailed off the woman absent minded. "Hmm...Wasn't there an announcement in the papers some time ago that a cabbie was found in the Thames along with his car?" Vivian's eyes rose to the ceiling as she seemed to sink into her thoughts. They returned to Anton and watched him perform his eating ritual. She noticed a long time ago that the man had a routine, and an order to eating, it just seemed natural of him. Same at home too: neatness and order, he was always irritated at messes and disorganization.

Sherlock chuckled inwardly as he recalled vividly the ruffled expression on John's face every time he would come home and see the mess that was the kitchen, or living room, after Sherlock was done with them. He thought that Anton was rather the same in that regard, and had no problem fitting it into the conversation, helping to ensure Anton's reputation of being a fan of his preferred rhythm of life.

Anton didn't seem fazed by her interest in the cabbie. Of course the cab driver was dealt with. He was a pain in the ass, almost literally, and Anton had one of his men deal with it. "He probably had it coming," he said casually. Anton had no plans to deal with this restaurant because he was quite sure that he had gotten through to almost everyone, and there were too many witnesses of what just happened. It would seem too coincidental for something to happen here after they left. "I may not have gotten so angry if the waiter hadn't done it on purpose. I probably wouldn't have brought any weapons to the table." And with that comment he remembered he should put his own knife away. He slid it back into the top of the cane and reached down to put his hat back on top of it. Anton stayed quiet as he finished the rest of his food. He was done with this tacky restaurant and besides, there were much more /entertaining/ things back at their flat.

Vivian nodded, agreeing with that logic. That ride was bloody awful, and she was not even remotely sad to read that morning's announcement. She finished her salad, neatly wiping her mouth with the napkin, and turned her eyes questioningly to Anton. "So, was there anything else on tonight's agenda, or are we heading home? I cannot honestly say that this restaurant holds the same appeal it did in the beginning." As she was saying that Vivian's eyes swept casually over the other patrons and caught quite a few of their eyes, glued to their table. It seemed that after Anton's speech a lot of people were trying to guess their relationship and circumstances themselves, seeing if either he or she were lying to safe face. She noticed an older man, dressed in a very neat suit, seated closed to the bar, who was paying a bit /too/ much attention to her, and especially her figure, and frowned slightly. She knew she looked good, but she still disliked being ogled, she had had quite enough of that before, thank you very much! That was another reason she was happy with her new job, as from what she knew, the men who came to Calooh Caley, while still /men/ were aware that the bartenders there were not only attractive, but also smart, and knew how to tie together a conversation

Anton followed Vivian's gaze to the man at the bar. "Yes, we're going home," he growled in a low voice. He fished out his wallet from the inside of his suit jacket and paid for what he assumed their meal was. Putting on his fedora, standing and buttoning a button on his jacket, cane under arm, he pulled Vivian's chair out for her. Instead of offering his arm to her, he wrapped it around her waist possessively. When they passed the man at the bar Anton ignored the man while showing him that Vivian was his and Anton wasn't even threatened by him. Really who /was/ Anton threatened of? He had stumped the great detective Sherlock Holmes. A goofy grin spread across John's lips inwardly. That was his favorite part. Anton, on the other hand, had a stony expression, face hard. Once outside he hailed another cab and opened the door for Vivian again before getting in himself. He didn't even pay the restaurant one last glance. It was like he had forgotten about all of it already. Once again Anton stared out the cab window, scanning the streets as they made their way home. Inside, John was nearly exploding to talk to Sherlock again.

Vivian followed Anton into the taxi, and soon out of it, and onto the steps of his house. While she was getting the keys out of her clutch, Vivian's eyes caught Anton's and she couldn't help but abandon her task in favor of leaning against him, and kissing his cheek, while placing both her hands on his crossed ones. "Thank you" Whispered the woman softly in his ear, swiftly turned around, fished out the keys, and unlocked the door, letting them both into the privacy of the house.

A small shiver ran down John's spine. He almost abandoned Anton the moment Vivian kissed him, but he managed to keep it together until they were inside. Once inside John dragged them both upstairs into their flat before he started to laugh. "That was /brilliant/!" He exclaimed. It /was/ fun and the thrill of pulling a knife on someone was stupid good. John placed Anton's cane and hat in his chair and turned on his flat mate. "And you were so good! I mean you were a proper woman! And that waiter? Such a twat." He chuckled and slid out of his suit jacket before flopping on their couch. John almost wanted to do that every day! Not only was that it just like a really good role-play with Sherlock that he desperately wanted to drag into the bedroom.

All presence of Vivian was abandoned as soon as the door closed and Sherlock made an appearance once more. He followed John up the stairs, having little choice in the matter, seeing as he was manhandled that way, regardless of his preferred pace, not that he minded. He listened to John, as the man took off his hat, and put down the cane, while sitting down himself and starting to remove his make-up in front of the mirror in the kitchen. He flashed John a smile, and said "So were you John, I couldn't imagine a more convincing performance. You made Anton come to life tonight, and start out on his reputation. It is without a doubt that some of those people at the restaurant tonight will be present at the bar this week, and seeing me, and you, there will not give them as much questions as it would have otherwise. Particularly the man you have shown dominance over as we were leaving". Sherlock finally finished cleaning his face, and stood up, coming closer to John, and flopping down on his lap, still clad in the outfit he was at dinner.

John grinned at the compliment and stretched out on the couch, taking Sherlock's usual spot. "It felt good, to be honest." It had felt /very/ good in many different ways. It wasn't hard to be protective over Vivian because John wanted to be protective over Sherlock. It easily transferred over. "I took some tips from your usual behavioral and deduced the dickens out of that hostess," John wasn't bragging or gloating, he was just feeling good about how the evening went. He watched lazily as Sherlock wiped the make-up off his face, slowly becoming more and more Sherlock-like. John had to admit he liked Sherlock a lot better as a man than as Vivian. It may be because he fell in love with the Sherlock as a man, but he was /much/ more attracted to the man. John was just realizing it now that he had missed the quirks of Sherlock.

"And you did it well!" smirked Sherlock as got more comfortable; that outfit really left a lot to be desired in the terms of comfort. "Oh John, I haven't had a chance to act like that in quite a while! The complete transformation, the immersion in the character! Sometimes I think that Mommy was right when she said I would've been an actor, if detective work never grabbed my attention." His eyes turned to John, smiling, as he took in his slightly ruffled look, the jacket slung over the back of the chair, and finally landed on the cane sitting on that same piece of furniture. "Why didn't you tell me you got a knife in there before we left?" Asked Sherlock as he raised up, grabbing the item in question and getting back to sitting on John's lap, albeit sideways this time.

"Why would I?" John asked, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's waist, watching him play with his cane. "I didn't think they would allow me to bring my gun into the bar so a hidden weapon would work better don't you think?" He grinned as he knew he caught Sherlock's intrigue. It took a lot to do that and the fact that just his cane had done that was a feat to be proud of. John ran a hand up and down Sherlock's thigh, kissing his shoulder over and over. "I really did miss you while we were doing that." He finally voiced. John wanted more of Sherlock and he wanted it all now. Unfortunately he /wasn't/ really Anton, so he would give Sherlock time to inspect the cane and whatever else caught his fancy before he would pounce.

Sherlock was pulled from his examination, as he noticed a few things about John worthy of distracting him. The most obvious one he was sitting on, and feeling rather thoroughly through the thin material of the skirt and silky panties. The second was the heated kisses pressed to his shoulder and then neck, and finally, when his eyes turned to John's, the slightly glazed warm look he had in eyes every time they were about to engage in intimate relations. Sherlock reached down and dropped the cane on the floor, wrapping his arms around John, and shifting on his lap to press his arse closer. Sherlock was quickly getting aroused by the attention, and the delicious bites that both John, and his own underwear provided to this body. His own eyes smoldering Sherlock bend his neck and settled his lips on John's. Playing Vivian and seeing John sink into the role of Anton, had gotten him quite hot, and abandoning any possible reservation he held before, Sherlock immersed himself in the feeling of John and his scorching hands around his waist, caressing him slowly.

John made a happy noise in the back of his throat when Sherlock turned on him. He pulled Sherlock down with him so they were both laying on the couch, Sherlock on top and John shifted his legs so Sherlock sank between his legs. Lips crashed together in an almost clumsy but heated kiss. A hand ran through Sherlock's hair, messing it up and gripping the back tightly. Another hand ran down Sherlock's back and grabbed at Sherlock's ass. John groaned in pleasure as he remembered what Sherlock was wearing under the skirt. Women's panties, most likely a thong knowing Sherlock. John wondered how everything was tucked away in there and he wanted to see it. Later though, much later. His pants tented considerably as he felt Sherlock's body flush against his and those fake breasts crushed against his own chest.

Sherlock's breath left him, as he was maneuvered on top of John, and felt hands settle on his head and ass. He kissed back with abandon, letting his tongue roam the willing mouth under his, as his own hands stretched over John's head and, raising it, settled under it, pulling John as close as he could. Sherlock moaned when he felt the other man's fingers play with his ass, and squeeze it. He /really/ needed to get out of that skirt, it was bloody tight, same for the panties. So Sherlock pulled away with a groan, and sat with his legs, curled under him, still in the valley of John's spread thighs, and tore the blouse away from his body, reaching back to unzip the skirt.

His shoulders were pulled back as Sherlock struggled slightly to reach the zipper that had slid higher than he anticipated, and the fake breast really stood from his chest. Sherlock turned his head to the side, trying to see his hands, raising on his knees and arching his back.

John didn't even complain when Sherlock pulled away when he saw that he was going to strip. "Thank /god/." He muttered and watched with hunger in his eyes. John wanted that body for himself and he leaned up to help Sherlock. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock and quickly unzipped the skirt himself, wanting to see it all faster. He nipped and bit trails along Sherlock's chest and stomach, kissing here and there every once in a while. He had a plan in his head, undress Sherlock, tease him until he was riddled with desire and then go into their bedroom for the shag. John didn't want to do it here, Sherlock was too noisy and Mrs. Hudson was sleeping. One more story up and their cries and moans would be muffled much more.

Do hope you had a good time reading this, wait for the next one, should be up in the next couple of days. Review, Fav, Follow, we love it all, please feed our egos! Thank you!


	4. Happy Holidays

So this is not an update, but rather a wish for a Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, Happy Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, and any of the other holidays you, my dear readers, celebrate in December. More updates will be coming after a few days, hang in there. Happy Holidays!


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